


Where are you now (where are you now), do you ever think of me in the quiet in the crowd

by ladyprydian



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff, Inspired by Twitter, M/M, inspired by fan graphic, inspired by real life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 16:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11993523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyprydian/pseuds/ladyprydian
Summary: Eames finds Arthur, loses Arthur, and finds Arthur again.Note: Please do not redistribute my fanfiction on other archives or sites without my express permission. Thank you.





	Where are you now (where are you now), do you ever think of me in the quiet in the crowd

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by a real twitter post found [here ](http://earlgreytea68.tumblr.com/post/164806300021/curiosity-prayer-twitter-as-a-force-for-good-i) which I then prompted [lolahardy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lolahardy/pseuds/lolahardy) with for her [In Every Universe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2316962/chapters/5100311) fic's she writes. 
> 
> Rather then a fic, she came up with [this graphic](http://lolahardy.tumblr.com/post/164907775314/arthureames-the-day-after-pride-eames-composes-a). 
> 
> Thanks to [prettyvk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyvk/pseuds/prettyvk) for the Beta. 
> 
> Go give both of them some love as well.

With a groan Eames cracked open one eye against the sunlight that was streaming in through the open blinds of his bedroom. Clearly he’d been too punch drunk, and maybe a little drunk-drunk, the night before and forgot to close them. He grunted as he rubbed at his eyes, clearing the sleep from them. His palms itched from the raspy feeling of stubble on his face.

He sighed, stretched and rolled over onto his back, legs splaying a bit. Right hand meandering as it migrated down his chest and belly to his dick. He was half-hard and ready to indulge in a lazy morning wank. 

Slowly, he palmed himself. Taking his time as he worked himself to full hardness. His mind still too sleep-fuzzy to focus on one of his wank fantasies. Rather it was dribbling back memories of the day before. 

It had been such an amazing evening, Pride was on in London and everyone was out and about. He and his mates had been going to as many events as possible. Last night was the Outdoor festival in Victoria Park. And God, what a time they had. Fantastic food with friends and the music was amazing.

Eames gasped as images of a beautiful boy flooded into his mind. He palmed his balls then went back to stroking himself, fully hard now, as memories of the boy appeared. Soft brown hair, milk chocolate eyes behind thick framed hipster glasses that suited him perfectly. They had met… where had they met? Oh yes, outside the Thai food vendor. They had both ordered Phat thai and the boy, Arthur his mind supplied, asked for no shellfish. 

“Mmm Arthur,” Eames groaned giving himself a squeeze and a long pull with a twist. Beautiful Arthur who laughed when he slurped noodles and ended up splattering his glasses in sauce. Arthur of the slim delicate hands and long fingers that could dexterously maneuver his chopsticks to pick up a single noodle. Arthur of the trim waist and soft skin when Eames had slid his fingers under Arthur’s shirt then down beneath the waistband of his jeans as they danced and cuddled while listening to music. 

Arthur of the softest, kissable lips.

“Ah! Yes!” Eames moaned his hand moving faster now, rougher. Laziness gone replaced with want. With aching need. Arthur, gorgeous lovely Arthur. Arthur the Architect. Bold Arthur who sought out Eames’s tongue as they kissed. Arthur who tugged at Eames’s hair and had his own pulled in return. Arthur who giggled when their teeth clacked or their noses bumped, before diving back in for more kisses. 

“Ah-ah!” Eames panted as he raced to completion. “Ah-Arthur,” he said with a breathless giggle as he came across his belly. Mmm yes Arthur who said “Mr. Eames” as if it was a promise for more.

Arthur, whom he had to see again. 

Come cooling on his belly, Eames reached for his phone. Did he have Arthur’s number? He must have got Arthur’s number? He needed it. He needed to see Arthur again. Kiss him again. Go out with him, make love to him. 

He swiped to messages. Nothing new except a message from Yusuf saying that he and Ari got home. He closed the app and went to his contacts, his heart sank. No Arthurs. No one in his contacts he didn’t already know.

“Fuck,” Eames said out loud. 

“Fuckity fuck fuck FUCK!”

With a heavy sigh he dropped back down on the pillow, dropping his Arthur-less phone on his chest. “Fuck,” he groaned into his hands. 

With that, Eames got up. The come on his belly was going from warm and wet to sticky cool and he needed to shower off the sweat from the day before. So he padded to the bathroom and turned the water to scalding. He got in and let the water pound his back and shoulders. Disappointment sat heavy in his stomach. 

Was that it? Was that all the time he would have with ravishing Arthur? Is this his ‘one that got away’ because of the sheer stupidity of forgetting to get Arthur’s number? Will he be old and alone in his 60s lamenting the loss of Arthur? Certainly feels like it, Eames thought as he went through the perfunctory motions of cleaning himself. He sighed again as he rinsed off and stepped directly under the spray. 

It was then that he remembered twitter. Gasping and opening his eyes, getting a face and lung full of water in the process, he spluttered a cough then lunged for the taps. 

Twitter, how had he forgot bloody twitter! He had thousands of followers there, it might be a long shot, and he wasn’t sure if he said anything to Arthur last night about twitter but he thought he did. So maybe, just maybe if he asked his twitter followers and @ed Pride London he might, oh please oh please, find Arthur.

Not bothering to dry off Eames slung the towel around his waist and went to his phone grabbing it from where he left it in the middle of the crumpled sheets of his bed and opened the app. 

“Kissed a boy in #London last night. Regret not getting his number. Any1 know Arthur, works in architecture? Very very pretty? @PrideLondon [blush emoji]”

Tweet. 

Now all he had to do was wait. 

Not wanting to mope about, constantly checking twitter every 30 seconds, he opened messages and texted Yusuf. 

“Breakfast?”

The speech bubble popped up and Eames took the time to properly dry off while waiting to see what Yusuf was going to say. 

“Sure. 1 hr, normal place?”

“Yep.”

\---

He beat Yusuf and Ari to the cafe where they had breakfast a couple of Sundays a month. 

“Do you know an Arthur?” He asked Ari without bothering to say hello. Ariadne was in architecture school and he was hoping he could get his number from her. 

She shook her head. “Sorry no. Why do you ask?” She asked as she and Yusuf sat down. 

Eames launched into his story about love lost from the night before. 

“Oh so that’s where you got off to. Figured as much,” Yusuf said scanning the menu. He always read the menu but always ended up with the same thing (squash and potato hash with turkey bacon). “Did you two do it and he was gone this morning?”

“Nooooo,” Eames whined. “I only got to kiss the most heavenly creature in the world and then he was gone. Gone from my life. I’m going to die alone and you two will find me two weeks later all bloated and gross.”

“Ew, thanks for that Eames,” Ari said wrinkling her nose as she lifted her cup of coffee to take a sip. “Look, I’ll ask around, but no guarantees. There are a number of Architecture firms here in London but he might not even work here. You said he was American right? Could be a tourist.”

“GAH!” Eames cried. 

“Harsh, Ari.” Yusuf said. 

“What? I’m just being pragmatic about it,” Ariadne said. 

Eames looked back at the menu and decided on a full English breakfast. After that sort of disappointment he deserved a big fry up to console himself.

\---  
He spent the day with Yusuf and Ari, wandering around Portobello Market trying to not compulsively check twitter. Besides every time he pulled out his phone, Yusuf would give him this sad sympathetic look which was very irritating. It wasn’t until late that afternoon when they stopped for a quick coffee at a Pret, and Yusuf was in the bathroom, that he checked twitter.

“I don’t think you’ll ever find him [wink with stuck out tongue emoji]”

Eames gasped. Arthur! @Arrrthur! He found him! Twitter had come up in spades and he found Arthur. Arthur who had replied, dammit! 5 hours ago but replied nonetheless. Quickly he tapped the reply button. 

“Oh hi [smile emoji] fancy a drink sometime?” he tweeted. Then tapped on Arthur’s twitter handle to follow him. 

“What is it?” Ariadne asked coming over with 3 cups of coffee. 

“I found him! He replied to my tweet!” Eames crowed with delight.

“Oh good,” Ariadne said. “Your moping was getting old fast.”

“I was not moping,” Eames said, aghast. 

“You were,” Yusuf said as he returned. “Why are you not now?”

“Eames found his Arthur via twitter,” Ariadne supplied. 

Eames ignored them as his phone vibrated in his hand with a notification from twitter saying that he had a new message. Tapping into twitter he found a private message from @Arrrthur. “I sure do ‘fancy’ a drink and I2 regret not getting your number.” He then gave a time and place along with his phone number.

“Yes!” Eames shouted in the middle of the Pret startling some of the other patrons around them. The time was an hour from now and the place was about two tube stops away. He replied back to the message “Can’t wait to see you darling Arrthur”.

“I assume you have a date?” Yusuf asked. 

“Yes, a date with my destined,” Eames said gleefully. 

“Oh lord, he’s going to be insufferable now,” Ariadne moaned. 

\---

1 year later

With a groan Eames cracked open one eye against the sunlight that was streaming in through the open blinds of his bedroom. Clearly he’d been too punch drunk, and quite a bit drunk-drunk, the night before and forgot to close them. He grunted as he rubbed at his eyes, clearing the sleep from them. His palms itched from the raspy feeling of stubble on his face.

He sighed, stretched and rolled over onto his back, legs splaying a bit. 

“Morning,” a sleep-rough voice said beside him. A warm body rolled over so it could cuddle against his side. One long-fingered hand stroked gently at his face, rasping against his morning stubble. 

“Mmmm, Arthur,” Eames said ducking his head to catch Arthur in a sleepy, sloppy morning kiss.


End file.
